


You're a crook, I'm a thief

by PepperCat



Series: The Secret History of Hartley Rathaway [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hartley actually not being too much of a jerk, Leonard Snart being annoyed, Loneliness, after s01e11, canon-compatible, homelessness or trespassing, lots of talking, mentioned fear of homophobic violence, mostly because he doesn't get the chance, oh my god I can't tag - help?, partnership of opportunity, plot-light, really everyone's irritated with their families, strangers in the room while you sleep, to different degrees though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperCat/pseuds/PepperCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hartley finds he's brushing his hands across his ears and stops, lies down on the couch and stares at the ceiling. If Caitlyn's distracted, Cisco will be too, a little. It's not a bad time to make a move against Wells, if he can just figure out what the man wants, figure out how and where to really hurt him.</p><p>If he can just…</p><p>The lights from the street bounce across the wall; the ceiling is dark. Hartley closes his eyes.</p><p>Follows from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6129817">They fill you with the faults they had/And add some extra, just for you.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nowhere To Go

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged as teen-and-up mostly because I'm fuzzy on whether or not mild canon-typical violence (for the Flash show) falls into General, and am playing it safe.
> 
> I've split the first part into three extremely short chapters because I couldn't figure out a way I didn't hate to show the viewpoint transitions.

The upside of being captured by Harrison Wells' jumped-up grandstanding high-speed sop-minded pet is being captured _by the Flash_. All jokes about red leather aside, this means no police record, no charges, no awkward legal entanglements. All Hartley had to do was wait until Wells wasn't around and outsmart Cisco Ramon.

Alright, yes, they'd probably be looking for him; Hartley had expected that and found a place to stay. He's not interested in a place that's actually abandoned, or in dealing with a landlord. But there's a scabby little house that's had its property taxes paid by a realtor on behalf of a trust for a few years, and isn't actually on the market, and it's a good enough place to go to ground when you don't need more than what you can carry.

 _Omnia mea mecum porto_ , and all that.

(And why _had_ Wells saved the Flash, anyway? Hartley began to wonder if he'd overplayed his hand, if Wells had known the Flash would bring him back and had _wanted_ him pouring poison into Cisco's ear...)

But.

Wells saved the Flash. It had to be Wells; Cisco's not that bright, a happy little gadgeteer. Wells _bothered_ to save the Flash. Publically admitted to a watered-down version of what Hartley had tried to warn him about, after discarding Hartley so casually and throughly, and saved the Flash...

They aren't looking for him. And he can't tell if Wells is steering them away while he figures out how to deal with Hartley, or if they've just stopped paying attention.

He doesn't go out.

As far as anyone but Wells is concerned, Hartley's only the man who showed up to smash up some windows, tried to get rid of the Flash but admittedly didn't manage, and threw them a bone with regards to good old Ronnie Raymond. They've got some motivation to find him, but not _nearly_ as much as he has to never again end up in a situation where Cisco Ramon can use that screamer on him.

So he doesn't go out.

He sits in the basement, using his computer to needle away at S.T.A.R. Labs and look for anywhere else Wells might be pulling strings, grateful that the electricity is on; he suppose the realtor does that to keep pipes from freezing in a cold snap, and it's more trouble than it's worth to turn it off in warm weather. It strikes him as a little stupid, but it's not his problem. He doesn't find much, although _Daily Science_ runs an thinkpiece on Wells' bold confession that makes Hartley's teeth ache. He shuts their site down for thirteen hours and fumes.

(Maybe it wasn't at all about what Hartley could have said to Cisco. Maybe Wells had just done what he'd done to save the Flash, and had considered anything Hartley might do to escape a second time to be an acceptable cost.)

It's maddening.

The house is serviceable, if surprisingly empty. There are appliances (although he doesn't trust the stove), and furniture, technically, if you counted a ratty couch and two kitchen chairs and a table in the basement.

The emptiness leaves it feeling too big, full of distractions; more and more often, Hartley catches himself sitting on the couch in the dark and watching the occasional backsplash of headlights bounce across the wall, more than once. The house creaks and pops around him; there's a rat in the walls, but he thinks there's only one.

It's probably lonely.

Stupid animal.

He keeps the kitchen clean, but it doesn't go away.

(What made the Flash worth acceptable costs to Harrison Wells?)

He distracts himself by poking _very_ carefully into Eiling, since the man's back in town, and pieces together a little more of what the man is trying to do with FIRESTORM, but when that's done he goes up to sit on the couch again and think. Eiling's an idiot, but a loud one, powerful in a narrow kind of way. Caitlyn is not an idiot, but she's short-sighted, she'll be all tangled up in what this might mean about Ronnie. Cisco--

Hartley finds he's brushing his hands across his ears and stops, lies down on the couch and stares at the ceiling. If Caitlyn's distracted, Cisco will be too, a little. It's not a bad time to make a move against Wells, if he can just figure out what the man wants, figure out how and where to really hurt him.

If he can just…

The lights from the street bounce across the wall; the ceiling is dark. Hartley closes his eyes.

* * *

His hearing is good, but he's miserable or exhausted enough to sleep through everything until there's a blazing light in his eyes and a grip on his wrist that screws from uncomfortable up to painful with frightening speed when he tries to sit up.

"You're in _my house_ ," an extremely grim voice says, and Hartley's attempt to ask a question has his wrist torqued another degree round. He bites back a scream.

"Please!" Not useful-- "Alright! What do you want to stop doing that?"

The pain ebbs a little. Hartley takes stock. Aside from the light in his eyes, it's still dark. The arm that he had pressed against the back of the couch is pulled across his body, and he can't sit up. He turns away from the light as much as he can and listens.

"Why're you here?" The man holding his wrist isn't moving around; Hartley strains and hears the very faint creak of a leather jacket and the thin clank of what might be a key clicking against its keyring. The hush of the current through the penlight's wires. He can hear the rat somewhere between the living room floor and the basement ceiling, and the waterpipes _tink_ ing gently in the walls, but the only people breathing in the room are the man and himself.

"I needed a place to stay," he says quickly. "The property tax records, the realtor--this place was in limbo. No-one had a reason to be here. I didn't realize it was a blind."

"Who's _I_?"

 _Hartley Rathaway--yes, one of_ those _Rathaways. No, they're not speaking to me. They really aren't, so I'll just share my name because obviously kidnapping or ransom would never cross the mind of the kind of person who sets up a safehouse and is implicitly threatening to break my wrist--_

The rat moves again and Hartley remembers something he read once, a long time ago.

"Stiles," he says.

"Stiles." It's a low lazy voice, and Hartley shivers and comes more fully awake as he realizes that it sounds familiar as well as frightening. "We expecting company, Stiles?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Okay, a few things;
> 
>  _Omnia mea mecum porto_ is a Latin phrase while means "all that I have I carry with me"; I tossed it in because I picked it up from a cartoon about [Karl Heinrich Ulrichs](http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=396), who may have been the first man to come out publically in any modern sense.
> 
> Hartley picks "Stiles" as a name because I love the movie _Willard_ , and the story of a young man who's driven out of his family business and who ends up with no friends except his disturbingly obedient rats maps pretty well onto some aspects of Hartley. (He totally started by picking up the book _Ratman's Notebooks_ that it was based on, and is too much of a snob to admit to liking the movie. Either one.)


	2. You better take care if I find you been creeping 'round my back stairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The part of Len's mind that never really left the question alone spoke up again, and he quashed it by pointing out that while the age and height weren't wildly out of bounds, he could not in his wildest dreams _imagine_ the Flash coming to one of his safehouses in civvies and then falling asleep on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Len's reaction to finding someone trespassing in his safehouse.

Len was _completely_ out of the patience required to deal with his partner and sister.

Mick had been in a grumbling mood since the rescue. Lisa had finally pulled him out to listen to him bitch about Lenny's interest in the Flash over drinks. Rather than waiting around for his partner and his sister to come back cheerfully or loudly drunk, Len decided to crash at one of his other safehouses.

Which was _occupied_. Goddammit.

He realized it as he was reaching for the lightswitch. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he stopped and turned towards the dark room. The air didn't smell enough of dust, and there was a very faint aroma of coffee.

He thought it over for a moment--a short one--and went quietly through the house. No-one was there but the man sleeping on the couch in the living room. Len crouched down next to him, considering him thoughtfully.

Not much to look at; pale skin, slim build in loose black clothes, brown hair. He'd fallen asleep without taking off his glasses. The part of Len's mind that never really left the question alone spoke up again, and he quashed it by pointing out that while the age and height weren't wildly out of bounds, he could not in his wildest dreams _imagine_ the Flash coming to one of his safehouses in civvies and then falling asleep on the couch.

He checked the man's wallet--the day he couldn't lift _that_ off a sleeping mark might come, but it wasn't tonight--and found it empty of anything interesting. A couple of keys. A glossy black slice of a phone. He set the possessions down on the floor next to the couch, pulled out a penlight, and flicked it on as he grabbed the man's far hand and drew it towards him.

The light or the touch alone might have been enough.

"What the _hell--_ " The man tried to pull away, shield his eyes, and fend Len off all at once; Len put a twist on his wrist and he froze with a yelp. Possibly not _throughly_ stupid, then.

"You're in _my house_."

"Who're--" Len pushed the hand a little further around, and a thin piping wail came through the man's teeth. "Alright! What do you want to stop doing that?"

Very accommodating sort of question. Len let up a little on the wrist lock.

"Why're you here?"

"I needed a place to stay. The property tax records, the realtor--this place was in limbo. No-one had a reason to be here. I didn't realize it was a blind."

"Who's _I_?"

The other man swallowed. "Stiles," he said after a moment, and Leonard didn't believe him, but didn't twist the wrist again. All it meant for the moment was that the man didn't have a reputation he felt like trading on.

"Stiles," he said, purring, and the man didn't quite flinch. "We expecting company, Stiles?"

"It's just me."

Usually a pointed look was enough to get people to keep sharing at this point, but Len was still shining the penlight in his eyes. There _was_ a daring escape in his very recent past, after all, and if it was just a case of stumbling across _a_ safehouse rather than _his_ safehouse he didn't necessarily see an advantage to being recognized.

"Hiding from someone?"

"Just the Flash."

That was interesting. Len sat back on his heels. Stiles was looking oddly pleased. He'd cocked his head as if listening to something, but there wasn't anything to be heard, and now he laughed a little. "I usually manage to get this line out before a strange man holds me down on a couch, but do I know you?"

"Don't think--"

But recognition had dawned in the kid's face, and his mouth had an odd twist to it; half bitter, half pleased. "You stole _Fire & Ice_," he said. "The painting the Rathaways bought."

Leaving aside the detail that Stiles hadn't gotten a look at his face yet, Len had to admit that--after announcing the Flash's existence to Central City, staging a fight at Porter and Main that had involved firing the cold and heat guns in all directions, getting arrested, and arranging for a dramatic escape--that was not what he expected to be recognized for.

"Looking for it?"

"No! No. I just-- was there that night. I saw you. And heard you," and Len realized that the only thing Stiles had been listening for was him. And I saw your-- the--" His voice faltered a little. "He had something like a flamethrower."

Count on Mick to make an impression.

Len let go of his wrist and stepped back. Stiles sat up slowly, holding his right wrist curled in the center of his chest and shielding his eyes with his other hand. "The painting," he said after a moment. "Who did you sell it to?"

"Burned it."

Stiles looked genuinely surprised, then smiled. It was a painful smile, as if there were fishhooks pulling at the corners of his mouth. Len frowned a little and went back to an earlier point of conversation.

"Why would Flash be interested in you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These do overlap in terms of event descriptions a bit; if I was a better writer I could probably manage to convey more of Len's reactions through Hartley's POV and vice-versa, but I can't quite pull it off yet.


	3. Tentative Cooperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What, she didn't introduce herself? I'm shocked."
> 
> "None of them did," and Hartley can see Cold's grin in the dark behind the penlight, "but when your weapon comes from STAR Labs and you get a look at the people threatening you with a bigger prototype of the same thing, it's not hard to match names to faces. They looked so _pleased_ with themselves before the explosion, don't you think?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hartley switches to his other grudge. It's good for everyone, right?

It wasn't the painting that was making him smile. It wasn't _just_ the painting. But it was all so ridiculous. What the hell did you say in a situation like this? _I'm sorry_ , or _please don't shoot me_ , or _just give me an hour and I'll get out of your hair_? _I loved the way you made them cringe_?

Possibly the immortal _yo this place is so dope_.

Possibly not.

Cold--Leonard Snart, Hartley supposes, although he daydreams an echo of _Someone better call 911_ and thinks _Cold_ \--sounds a little different. Part of it is being spoken to from a couple of feet away, rather than ignored in the dark.

He sounds a lot more irritated then he did at the airport; Hartley tentatively chalks that up to the difference between surprising other people and being surprised, but only tentatively. He's feeling that this would be a very bad time to make assumptions. The last assumption he made was believing that this house was actually in a proprietary limbo, although that's turned out in a way that's at least interesting enough to distract him from constantly picking at the question of Wells.

Although mentioning the Flash seems to have caught his interest, and what the _hell_ explains the effect that red idiot has on people?

"Why would Flash be interested in you?"

"I built a little gadget that smashed up the skylight at Dr. Wells' home," Hartley says, and he isn't smiling exactly, but he can't quite keep the satisfaction out of his voice. "And the windows at Rathaway Industries. And then it nearly killed the Flash on the dam road." He sniffs. "You'd think they'd have found me before you did. He has the attention span of a mayfly."

"Or you're just not important."

Hartley looks away before, he hopes, Cold can see exactly how angry that makes him. Slow and steady breathing, gets it under control. "Can I turn on the lights? This is getting ridiculous."

"So Wells knows the Flash too."

Ignoring the question is annoying; the answer, on the other hand, has interesting information. Hartley looks back.

"What do you mean _too_?" He knows. But he's not sure how much Cold knows, and he's curious.

"Cisco Ramon and Dr. Snow," Cold says. "Showed up to help him at the train derailment. Pretty blonde, too. Don't suppose you know her?"

"What, she didn't introduce herself? I'm shocked."

"None of them did," and Hartley can see Cold's grin in the dark behind the penlight, "but when your weapon comes from STAR Labs and you get a look at the people threatening you with a bigger prototype of the same thing, it's not hard to match names to faces. They looked so _pleased_ with themselves before the explosion, don't you think?"

Hartley's not exactly glad that he was gone before the particle accelerator exploded, and that Wells had glossed over his contributions to the project after he left, but right now he appreciates not being the easiest face to find in conjunction with S.T.A.R. Labs. But--

" _Cisc_ _o Ramon_ built the cold gun?"

But that thing's _useful_. Beautiful, in its own way, although Hartley would bite his own tongue off before he admitted to that in Cisco's hearing.

"Try to keep up." There's a pause. "You know who the Flash is?"

If it were just Caitlyn's files that Hartley had gotten from the Labs, his answer would be no; she's very good at keeping a professional distance. Cisco, on the other hand, gets sloppy as hell. But Hartley's got nothing against Allen; he's just a way to get at Wells, and not a way that Hartley feels like trading away. "He wasn't there before the explosion."

"Don't dodge, Stiles," and even if Hartley gave him the name to use, hearing it come out of Cold's mouth in that dismissive tone makes him bristle. He stands up as Cold takes a step forward.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't clear," he says, as close to sweetly as he can manage. "This wasn't a _dodge_. That was me letting you know--apparently too subtly for you--that I'm not going to tell you everything I found at S.T.A.R. Labs. Accidentally trespassing in your flophouse does not get you that much, Cold."

"I could convince you to share." Cold is using a tone which does not make that sound pleasant _at all_ , and while Hartley usually doesn't flirt in a situation that actually feels _dangerous_ , he falls back on it for the second time since he's woken up.

"Oh," reaching out to run one finger down Cold's jacket, "I'm sure you could. Tall cold and dangerous is _so_ my type."

There's a second when he's expecting to get punched hard enough to bounce off the wall behind the couch--this is not Cisco, after all--and then Cold swats his hand away and laughs. Hartley starts breathing again.

"I haven't gone through everything I found yet," he admits. Both of them know it's not an answer to Cold's question, but it at least leaves something open to discuss in the future, and it's as close to an apology as Hartley can come.

"I'll take a look."

"Not on my computer, you won't."

Cold makes a small amused sound. "You _any_ good to me, Stiles?"

Hartley manages to get a firm grip on whatever still half-asleep part of his mind is pointing out _well, he didn't hit you_ and decides to stick to things that he's sure Cold is interested in. "I looked you up after you stole _Fire & Ice_. You're a thief, aren't you?" He's smiling again; it feels the same as when he heard about the painting.

"How'd you like to rob the Rathaways?"


	4. I'm on your side. Sincerely.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were people who could have suggested breaking into the Rathaway mansion and made it sound plausible. The slight, brittle, thinly snarky young man who'd accidentally broken into his safehouse and fallen asleep on the couch was not one of them.
> 
> But there are other reasons to consider the plan.

"How'd you like to rob the Rathaways?"

"Already done it." Len let the beam of the penlight fall away from Stiles' face, touch the floor; the backsplash of light made the other man look drawn and gaunt, but his expression was easier to pick up when he wasn't shielding his eyes.

"You stole a painting from them," Stiles said. He was smiling oddly; he looked as if he couldn't decide between being mean and being sick. "I mean robbing their _house_."

There were people who could have suggested that and made it sound plausible. The slight, brittle, thinly snarky young man who'd accidentally broken into his safehouse and fallen asleep on the couch was not one of them.

Len stared at him.

Stiles sat back down on the couch, his fingers picking nervously over the nap of the fabric. He cocked his head to one side, listening again, and whatever he heard seemed to calm him. He blew out a breath and began.

"I know the layout of the house and grounds and outbuildings," he said carefully. "I know the house servants' schedules, though I admit you might see some slight variation there. There's the walls and the gate. The security system on the house itself is a Lamorak KA1240 from Queen Co." Stiles smirked a little and glanced up. "There are arguments for upgrading, but it's actually quite a good system, and Palmer Technologies is supporting the model for another five years. So they've got the internal cameras, the entry point detection, the smart alarm system, and the shielded cellular connection." He leaned forward a bit and touched his temple as if he'd just remembered something. "Oh, and the outside relay that alerts if the system doesn't respond to the data packets sent in every five minutes."

"So you know the setup." And was taking it a bit lightly; Stiles sounded like a man putting together a grocery list. Len took a couple of steps back and rested one shoulder against the wall by the window. Stiles half-twisted to keep him in sight, leaning on the arm of the couch and gazing at Len, his glasses gleaming faintly in the thin wash of light from the windows. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Len traced a small go-on circle in the air with the hand that held the penlight.

Stiles swallowed and continued. "I can get past the system, and after that, there's just a few internal locks to worry about. Oh. And the motion sensors on the grounds, but those honestly aren't on all the time; they're mostly for extra security during parties. They might be using them now, though," he added. "You upset them at the airport. They're probably a bit jumpy."

Odds were far too long on all the information being accurate, and Stiles _actually_ being as good as he said he was. But him bringing up the suggestion at all was interesting. Len tilted his head to one side. "Sounds like you could get in on your own."

Stiles shrugged. "I wouldn't know how to fence most of what you could probably get. I'm sure you would. It's to your own benefit, honestly."

"How _generous_." Len let the sarcasm roll through his voice and Stiles flinched. He stopped leaning on the arm of the couch, straightened up and ran one hand through his hair. "Try again."

"I'm serious."

Len straightened up from where he was leaning on the wall and started towards the door.

* * *

Hartley freezes for a second and then he's off the couch like a shot, scrambling to get to the door first.

"Wait--" He darts in front of Cold and grabs his jacket, then sees the man's face tighten and lets go, backing away. His shoulders hit the door behind him. "I saw what you did at the airport. You scared them. I'm not--" He laughs a little, holding his hands up. "I'm hardly a particularly intimidating figure. But if their home was broken into, if their things were taken, it'd be a start."

There's a moment of silence. The rat has stopped scratching in the walls, and he can hear Cold breathing, calm and controlled. The other man is standing so close that Hartley can smell the faintest trace of his jacket, cold leather and night air.

"No reason you need me."

"I'm not a thief," Hartley says. "I don't know how to-- it can't _possibly_ be as easy as you make it look." He can build in a margin of error for known risks, in case something going wrong, but he doesn't really know what to _expect_. He's grown used to being ignored, not needing to hide. And his plans tend to heavily feature getting caught by the Flash, not avoiding him and the police. And…

And there had been that grin, in the blue and silencing light of the cold gun, and Hartley is fascinated by the self-assurance. That's all it is. He might be able to manage without the help, Cold's right, but he wants it and it wouldn't make anything more difficult, so why not?

(He's being an idiot. But it's something to do that isn't lying on the couch watching the ceiling or chasing the question of what Wells wanted around in circles.)

"The Rathaways," Cold says contemplatively. "What next? Wells?"

Hartley blinks, a sudden giddiness rising in him at the thought. "If you're offering..."

* * *

"No." Save him from amateurs who talked about robbery when they meant grand larceny and had plans but no experience. Len stepped back, gave the other man room to clear away the door. No reason to move him if he left himself. "And I'm not working with you on the Rathaways, either."

"Why not?"

"Your grudge isn't my business." Hangups could be accomodated--he worked with Mick, after all--but they never made things easier. Obsessions shouldn't come into play on jobs--

Len shook his head, came back to the matter at hand. "You're determined, Stiles. Sure you'll find some way to put a scare into them." Go in alone, or settle for shattering the house's windows during a party; it wasn't Len's problem. Stiles was frowning, and Len almost felt a little pity. "Stay off the Flash's radar long enough to work a few real jobs--"

"Where's your gun?"

There was silence for a moment. Stiles smiled.

"They'd have taken it away from you. And your friend's gun as well." Stiles paused, and Len didn't answer. He hadn't expected the topic change, and even a good lie would have rung false after his surprised silence. "I mean, whatever he is. Your friend? Acquaintance? Accomplice?"

"Partner."

Stiles' eyebrows lifted, and he looked as if he was about to say something lighter than the conversation warranted, but he bit it back. "They've probably been dismantled by now. Even if they're being kept as evidence somewhere you could get to them, they've likely had pieces taken out, been stored separately..."

Len didn't move towards the other man, but apparently he did something that Stiles picked up on, because Stiles pressed further back against the door. "All I mean is that you don't have them, Cisco Ramon built them, and he won't help you get another."

Stiles had a point. Even if Cisco hadn't been working with the Flash, kidnapping and threatening his co-worker probably hadn't helped. Still...

"Wouldn't be that hard to get to him."

"Of course. After all, you got to Dr. Snow." There was an edge creeping into Stiles' voice; Len chalked it up as yet another reason to go digging through STAR Labs after this discussion. "I absolutely grant that you kidnapped her, and probably frightened her very badly. You could do the same thing with Cisco, but that wouldn't make him _help_ you. You don't need him to be tractable bait, you need him to be _personally useful_."

"Get to the point."

Stiles almost smiled, but couldn't hold it; it flickered and faded and he was back to being on edge. "I know how you could convince him."

"Pretty sure I could come up with something."

"Oh, absolutely." Stiles held up his hands and shrugged again, stepping sideways and out of Len's path. "You can take as much time as you like figuring out how to get Cisco Ramon to work for you without hospitalizing him and making him useless. Please believe me when I say he's annoyingly stubborn." He gestured towards the door. "Or you can help me rob the Rathaways, get paid for your time, and learn exactly what will make him crack. Obviously--as a professional thief interested in getting their customized equipment back as soon as possible--the choice is yours."

Len raised an eyebrow. "You sure you picked my safehouse by accident, Stiles?"

The startled smile was answer enough. Len guessed it had been a while since he'd heard anything close to a compliment, and apparently _Were you clever enough to plan this?_ counted.

"Alright," Len said, waving him back to the couch. Circumstances and strange bedfellows and all that, but it was worth it to at least hear him out. "Rathaways. Let's talk."

**Author's Note:**

> I don't love the title, but titles are hard for me. It was initially "Take up with a man whose business is the boulevard/whose smile was fixed in a face that was never off guard", which is a riff off a line from Springsteen's "Black Cowboys"--again, a story about a boy leaving his family--but I switched to the line from MS MR "Criminals" because it read better as a title and seemed like a better reflection of Hartley's state of mind (while the other one was more about Len's presentation).
> 
> That said, most of what I listened to while trying to write this was Mark Knopfler's "[What It Is](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAxzr9BdnkA)".
> 
> I'm really not sure about the tagging on this; if I've missed anything, please let me know.
> 
> (Also, I do have the actual robbery sketched out - I'm trying to figure out if it goes in this work or a different one. ~~Will decide when I have the tone nailed down a little further.~~ The actual stealing from the Rathaways is going to be slightly heavier due to Hartley dealing a little more with his issues _vis-a-vis_ his parents, so I'm going to put that in a different fic rather than putting a homophobia tag on this one. Expecting to have at least a teaser of it up later today...)


End file.
